


Home

by TrueIllusion



Series: Familiarity [16]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk), Physical Disability, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: The terminal was packed with people and very, very noisy. And the lights were so bright. The sun was shining through the large row of windows that lined the wall. Directly to his right, a little girl sat on her mother’s lap, loudly singing a song that, as best he could tell, made no sense. He was fairly sure that it wasn’t just his brain injury causing it to not make sense. But regardless, it was loud. Too loud.





	Home

_“They say I may never draw again.”_

_“Yeah, well. They’re always telling people they’ll never draw again or walk again or piss again, so that when you finally do, you’ll think they’re geniuses and they can charge you whatever the fuck they want.”_

*****

The lights in the airport were way too bright.

They’d told him he’d be fine to fly. They’d set him up with earplugs and noise canceling headphones and sunglasses and a special, relaxing playlist on his phone.

He and Brian and his “care team,” as they had called themselves at the rehab center, had discussed it, and they’d all decided that a 90-minute flight would be easier than a six- or seven-hour drive. Besides, Brian hadn’t bought a new car yet, and wasn’t sure he was going to at this point, since they’d both become such city dwellers over the past ten years.

So they’d set him up with all of those things, designed to help him keep from getting overwhelmed with sensory input, and to help him relax during the flight.

But at this point, Justin was thinking he'd be doing good just to make it to being on the plane.

The terminal was packed with people and very, very noisy. And the lights were so bright. The sun was shining through the large row of windows that lined the wall. Directly to his right, a little girl sat on her mother’s lap, loudly singing a song that, as best he could tell, made no sense. He was fairly sure that it wasn’t just his brain injury causing it to not make sense. But regardless, it was loud. Too loud.

Justin gritted his teeth against the headache he could feel coming on and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He was already looking forward to the reprieve he’d get when he and Brian got to board the plane first -- a perk of Brian’s obvious physical disability. He supposed he probably could have qualified for preboarding on his own this time, but he didn’t want to think about that. He kept himself focused on how quiet the plane would be, at least for a few minutes until the “families with young children” got to board next.

But for right now, he still had to get through a bit longer in the terminal, amid a throng of people that he wasn’t sure could possibly be any noisier.

“Use the earplugs and the sunglasses,” Brian said softly. Brian was holding his hand, and Justin could feel Brian’s thumb rubbing lightly back and forth across his knuckles.

“Not here,” Justin whispered. “Everyone will be staring at me.”

“Well, a lot of them are already staring at me. I could do something to make more of them stare at me instead, if you want.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Who’s being funny?”

“Brian.”

“Alright. I was just thinking there’s no sense torturing yourself unnecessarily. Hell, this is starting to give me a headache.”

“I’m fine.”

Brian studied him, and Justin could tell that Brian didn’t believe him. Justin had learned the art of being “fine” from the master himself. But the problem with that, was that the master wasn’t easily fooled.

The plane they’d be taking to New York had just arrived from some other city and been docked to the jetway a few minutes before, and the number of people in the terminal multiplied as passengers emerged, one-by-one and sometimes two-by-two, from the door that led to the jetway. That meant they’d start boarding soon.

“I guess I’d better take one last bathroom break,” Brian said. “You want to come too? Or will you be alright here?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know you don’t. I’ll be right back, then.”

Brian turned and left Justin sitting with the carry-on suitcase they were sharing. Justin continued watching people pour out the door and into the terminal. He noticed he was cradling his right hand against his chest with his left, almost protectively. Well, he guessed it actually was protective. It was also apparently automatic -- he hadn’t even thought of doing it. It just happened.

While it was no longer completely numb like it had been while he was in the hospital, the sensation in it was duller than what he felt in his left hand. His fingers on his right hand felt fat, even though he could visually see they were no different than the fingers of his left hand. His right hand functioned as a weak claw and nothing more. He didn’t have the dexterity to grip anything to write or draw with, not that he’d be able to write or draw very effectively even if he could hold the pencil. His motor skills were for shit at this point. He wondered if he’d ever be able to draw or paint again, or if he’d lost that ability completely.

He wondered if he’d lost himself as well, in that process.

Justin felt like a shell of a person. He was just moving through life, trying to get through each day, but feeling like he wasn’t even doing a very good job at that.

He knew Brian had been very patient with him, giving him grace that he probably hadn’t deserved, given the way he’d treated Brian sometimes. He’d tried not to take his frustration out on Brian, but sometimes he did it anyway, because Brian was safe. He knew Brian wasn’t going anywhere. That Brian could take it.

But over the past few weeks, Justin had been wondering if there was something going on with Brian. He looked tired all the time, and sometimes he would show up to Justin’s room at the rehab center looking upset, but swear that he was fine and paste on this fake smile that Justin could see right through, even in his current state.

Brian was the master at saying he was fine when he really wasn’t. And getting him to admit that he wasn’t, was nearly impossible.

The little girl on his right suddenly stopped singing. Out of the corner of his eye, Justin saw her turn toward him.

“Hey, mister,” she said.

“Hi,” Justin responded quietly. He liked kids, but he really hoped this conversation would be short, because he wasn’t sure that his head could take much small talk, even from an elementary schooler.

“Why’s your friend in a wheelchair?”

“Julia,” her mother said in a scolding tone. “You know we don’t ask people questions like that.”

“It’s okay,” Justin said. “He wouldn’t mind. He’s uh...he’s paralyzed.” Justin realized as soon as he’d said the word that she might not know what that meant -- he guessed her to be around five or six years old. “His legs don’t work,” Justin added.

“Ooooh.” The little girl drug out the sound as she nodded her head. “Have you and him been friends for a long time?”

“Yeah...a long time.” Justin hoped Brian would be back soon, so he could have an excuse to disengage from this conversation he didn’t want to be having in the first place, and definitely didn’t want to be having if it would eventually involve him having to explain why he was married to another man. Justin’s still-recovering brain wasn’t up to telling white lies yet.

At that moment, Justin’s wish was granted when Brian rolled up next to him and gently wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Doing okay?” Brian said softly, kissing Justin’s cheek.

Justin nodded. Thankfully, the little girl had gotten distracted by something else, and didn’t ask why Brian had his arm around Justin and why he’d kissed him if they were just friends. Although maybe when you were her age, it wouldn’t be that unusual. Kids that age, while curious, were generally pretty accepting. At least, the ones he'd met.

After what felt like forever, they finally made it onto the plane. He and Brian boarded first, as predicted. Brian furtively asked one of the flight attendants to take care of stowing the suitcase in the overhead compartment, and he stayed back to allow Justin to go first so he could sit while Brian was getting himself situated. They were sitting in the first row, and Justin had figured out why Brian had done that when he saw that it was as far as Brian could get in his chair. It looked like it was an awkward maneuver to get into the airplane seat, but Brian also appeared to be well-practiced at it.

Brian reached across Justin and pulled the shade down over their window to block out the sun. He smiled at Justin.

“You excited to be going home?” Brian asked.

Justin shrugged. He didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to be as thrilled about this as he knew he should be. Just a few weeks ago, all he’d wanted was to go home and settle into married bliss with Brian, and forget all about the turmoil and upheaval that had been the last six weeks or so. But now that the moment had arrived, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what he was feeling. He thought maybe it was fear. Uncertainty.

Not wanting to be back in a place that reminded him that he’d made his living as an artist, and now he didn’t know what he was going to do. He couldn’t even fall back on his old standby of waiting tables, since he didn't have two good hands. He was sure that Brian would try to come up with something for him to do at Kinnetik, but Justin didn’t want to be a charity case.

Justin managed to pick up the buckle end of his seat belt in his right hand, but was having trouble holding onto it to connect it to the other side. It kept slipping through his fingers.

“Need some help?”

At least Brian knew to ask first and not just jump in and start helping. He probably knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of unwanted assistance when you’d rather do it yourself.

Justin was quickly figuring out that Brian had a lot of perspective when it came to doing things differently, and how it felt to be disabled. But Justin still wished he wasn’t having to figure all of that out -- still trying to fill in the hole in his memory that surrounded the details of Brian’s physical situation. He’d been hoping that more of it would come to him, but it never had. He had to have known it all at some point -- why couldn’t he seem to locate that file in his jumbled-up brain?

Being married to Brian had been so important to Justin for a long time, and he really was ecstatic to know that they were married, and had been for a while. But he wanted to be a good partner to Brian, and he was nervous about not remembering what exactly that meant. What it included.

The paralysis wasn’t a problem -- Justin could care less if Brian walked or rolled. He was still Brian, and Justin loved Brian. But how could he be the best husband possible for the man who had given him so much? Saved his life, even? That was what he didn’t know how to do.

He assumed they were intimate -- Brian had always been a very sexual person as far as Justin could remember. But he wondered how all of that worked, and he hadn’t wanted to ask Brian about it. He knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, but for right now, Justin was content to delay that conversation.

Justin had a sudden memory of Brian telling him all those years ago, after his first brain injury, that if he wanted to regain the strength and agility in his hand, he should jerk off several times a day. He almost laughed out loud at the thought, although his amusement was quickly subdued by the realization that there was no way he’d be able to jerk off with his right hand the way it was now.

He felt like he couldn’t do anything anymore.

They’d been working with him in rehab on using his left hand for things that required dexterity and grip strength, but he hadn’t really wanted to do that. All he wanted to do was draw, paint, create...somehow, just create. Just so he could feel whole. But he couldn’t do that.

He’d secretly tried doing a little drawing on the computer Brian had brought to his room at rehab, using his left hand to control the stylus, waiting until after Brian had left for the night. Justin knew if he did it when Brian was there, Brian would have been cheering him on, and Justin didn’t want that. He didn’t want to feel like a kindergartener being praised for doing a good job or trying something new or difficult. And he hadn’t saved any of what he’d done -- it was all awful. A kindergartener probably could have done better.

At least he was no longer talking like a child or feeling like he had the vocabulary of one. He’d still struggle with a word or two occasionally -- when he was trying to think of what he wanted to say but the wrong word would come to mind and refuse to leave -- but for the most part, his speech was back to normal.

Now, it was just his hand and the headaches. Debilitating headaches that left him in agony, unable to move or function at all. He hoped that the slight pulse of pain he was feeling in his skull right now wasn’t the start of one of those headaches.

Justin finally got the seat belt buckled by using his practically-useless right hand to press one end of the seat belt into his leg while using his left hand to buckle it. Proud that he’d gotten it himself, without help, Justin settled back into his seat and let his eyes close.

“Do you want me to get your headphones out? How’s the lighting in here?” Brian was keeping his voice low as he questioned Justin.

“I’m okay right now,” Justin breathed, keeping his eyes closed. “Just enjoying the quiet.”

Brian didn’t say anything right away. Justin guessed he was letting him have the quiet, while it was still possible, before all of the noisy people they’d been sitting in the terminal with boarded the plane.

After about a minute, Justin heard Brian yawn and say, “Man, I’ll be so glad to be back home in my own bed.”

Justin was looking forward to that too. He was tired of hospital beds, and he was sure Brian was probably just as tired of sleeping in a hotel. Being home also meant he wouldn't have to sleep alone.

He made it about halfway through the boarding process before he decided he wanted the headphones. He put on his music and tried to zone out. He felt Brian take his hand and weave their fingers together. He kept his eyes closed as a way of hopefully keeping the dull headache he could feel developing from turning into anything worse. After about thirty more minutes, he felt the change in gravity as the plane ascended. Brian’s hand continued to hold his. Once the plane leveled out, Justin leaned his head onto Brian’s shoulder, then felt Brian’s head come to rest against his. It wasn’t long before he could tell from the way Brian’s body was leaning into his completely, that Brian was asleep. Eventually, Justin fell asleep too.

Brian woke him up when they got to New York with a gentle hand on his forearm. Justin took the headphones off and looked around, realizing that everyone else was already off of the plane.

“I think they’re gonna kick us off soon,” Brian said. He had that wry grin on his face that Justin remembered so well. “But hey, you got to sleep through most of the waiting and all of the screaming and whining children and annoying business people talking too loudly on their cell phones, trying to sound important. Please tell me I don’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Justin, I didn’t mean it like that. It was a joke.”

“I know.”

Brian ran a hand through his hair, then pushed his hands down on the armrests and shifted in his seat. “Christ, did they finally lose my wheelchair? What the hell is taking so long?”

As if on cue, right at that moment, one of the flight attendants showed up with Brian’s chair. He got himself into it while Justin watched, thinking of how frustrating it must be to not be able to use your legs at all. Justin was plenty frustrated enough with his half-functional hand. He still wasn’t sure how Brian was surviving this -- and seemingly not bothered by it at all. He wondered if he’d ever come to feel that way about his hand.

Brian took the carry-on suitcase and put it in his lap, and they proceeded down to baggage claim, where their larger suitcase was already waiting for them on the carousel. Justin wondered how long after they’d landed he had still been sleeping. It must have been a while.

Justin pulled the larger suitcase along behind him with his left hand, keeping his right tucked safely away in the pocket of his coat. They then caught a cab, and Brian gave the driver their address.

Home. They were finally home.

Justin almost felt like the entire month of January didn’t exist for him. Like he’d spent it suspended in some alternate reality, and now it was time to get back to regular life. Only he wasn’t quite sure he knew how he was going to do that, or even what it would mean.

Justin spent most of the cab ride fighting dizziness and mild nausea from motion sickness -- now he was really glad they’d decided to fly instead of drive. He didn’t think he’d have been able to take six or seven hours of that. He wondered how it was going to be for him to get around the city now. Hopefully the subway might be better.

The elevator in their building made him feel the same way. Fuck, was he even going to be able to leave the apartment without feeling ill?

Brian unlocked the door and pushed it open. There was a light on in the living room, and fresh flowers sat in the center of the dining room table. Alongside the flower vase sat a piece of paper, folded in half and propped up like a greeting card.

Justin walked over to the table and picked up the note.

_There’s lasagna in the fridge. 350 for an hour. I know it’s not the same as Deb’s, but we hope it helps you feel at home anyway. Welcome back!_  
_Call us if you need anything. Seriously, we mean it. Love you both._  
_\- Rob, Adam, Esme, and Sophia_  
_P.S. The flowers were Esme’s idea. She thought there should be some color and beauty, for her favorite artist. We had to agree._

There were two drawings on printer paper lying on the table as well. One said Welcome Home, written in the too-large, slightly unsteady handwriting of a third grader, while the other was clearly some sort of a depiction of Brian and Justin, done in crayon. Probably a collaboration between Esmeralda and Sophia. They both loved to draw, and they loved it when Justin drew with them and gave them pointers. It was too bad that probably wouldn’t be happening anymore. Justin would miss that.

Justin ran the fingertips of his left hand across the edge of the picture of him and Brian.

“It’s kind of nice to feel missed, isn’t it?” Brian said. He was already on his way to the kitchen, where he leaned forward to turn on the oven, then took the lasagna out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

Justin nodded, watching Brian move around the kitchen. How comfortable he was. How the chair was just an extension of his body. All of that was much clearer now that he wasn’t just seeing Brian mostly in the context of a single room. He wondered how long it had taken Brian to get to that point.

Brian opened one of the cabinets, pulled out plates, and set them on the island between the kitchen and the dining room, then looked up and caught Justin’s eye.

“You good?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Brian came over to where Justin was standing in the dining room and took his hands, pulling him down so he could give him a kiss.

“Why don’t you go lie down for a bit, then?” Brian said. “I’ll take care of this, and I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Giving Justin a small smile, Brian released Justin’s hands and gestured toward the hallway that led to their bedroom and Brian’s office -- the office they’d once shared.

Justin walked slowly down the hallway, just taking it all in. Seeing what he felt he remembered clearly, and what he wasn’t sure about. The holes in his memory were all so random and so strange. He hoped that maybe being back in a familiar environment might help even more things come back to him.

There were paintings lining both sides of the hallway. His own. Seeing them made him feel even sadder to know that there probably wouldn’t be any more.

Two more of his paintings hung in the bedroom, along with one that had been painted by Lindsay. On the nightstand, on what Justin knew had always been Brian’s side of the bed, sat a framed photo of Brian and Gus, taken when Gus was about ten years old. Justin wondered if he’d been there too when that photo was taken. He didn’t remember.

Replacing the picture frame on the nightstand, Justin continued into the large, walk-in closet they shared. Sitting in one corner, below the more casual section of Brian’s too-large collection of designer clothing, was a second wheelchair. This one was much more beaten up than the one Brian was currently using. A backup, Justin presumed. Probably his first one. Justin hadn’t thought about that -- keeping a backup chair in case something went wrong -- but it made sense. It was a sobering reminder to Justin that he was lucky, even if he didn’t quite feel that way. He reached out and touched it and wished he could remember the time when it would have been a part of their lives.

Justin changed out of the clothes he’d worn to travel, pulling on his favorite pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt instead, before going back out to the bedroom and lying down on top of the duvet on his and Brian’s bed. It didn’t take him long to drift off to sleep. Even though he was much improved over what he had been when he’d first awakened from the coma, Justin still found that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, and he needed a lot of sleep. His doctors had told him that was normal -- his brain needed rest to continue to heal and recover.

The smell of garlic wafting through the apartment woke him up about an hour later. Justin climbed out of bed, stretched, and went into the main area of the apartment, where he found Brian in the dining room, putting plates of lasagna on the table. Justin wanted to have a glass of wine, but he knew he shouldn’t. Not for a while. He’d been cautioned against drinking alcohol, and told it would slow his recovery. He wasn’t sure how it could be any slower, but he wasn’t willing to chance it.

They ate their dinner -- it was really good, and Justin wondered if Rob had somehow gotten Debbie’s recipe, which she usually guarded like the gold at Fort Knox, but he figured if anyone could charm it out of her, it was probably Rob. Then Justin watched Brian move around the kitchen some more as he put their plates and glasses and silverware into the dishwasher, covered the lasagna pan with plastic wrap, and stuck it in the refrigerator.

They spent the rest of the evening together on the sofa, with Justin curled into Brian’s side and Brian’s arm wrapped around Justin’s shoulders as they watched a few of the shows that had piled up on the DVR in their absence.

After a couple of hours of cuddling -- which Justin knew the Brian of old would have hated, but he’d certainly take this version liking it, since he loved it himself -- they went to bed. Justin showered first, so he was already in bed reading a book when Brian joined him, his hair still wet from the shower, skin warm and slightly damp and smelling of his fancy French lotion. Brian pulled his legs up onto the bed and extended them out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He rolled himself over onto his side and pressed his lips against Justin’s, his tongue pushing into Justin’s mouth as their lips moved together. The kiss lasted a long time, but it left Justin wanting more. Right now, though, he was tired, and he could tell Brian was too.

“We made it,” Brian said softly. “We’re back home. It all gets better from here.”

Brian’s eyes were kind and gentle and held just a slight hint of a smile. Justin wished he could believe Brian’s words.

Brian pushed himself the rest of the way over onto his stomach, turning his head toward Justin as he reached out his hand and laid it over Justin’s, on top of the sheet. Justin focused on the warmth of Brian’s strong hand and the connection between their bodies -- one he’d missed so much, sleeping alone for over a month -- as he drifted off to sleep.

Some time during the night, Justin became vaguely aware of movement next to him. As he surfaced back into consciousness, he started hearing Brian’s voice in the darkness.

“Somebody help me,” Brian was mumbling, just clearly enough for Justin to understand what he was saying, but there was something in his tone that sounded urgent. “Please, help me. It’s really bad...it hurts. I can’t…” He was gasping for air now, and his voice was becoming more frantic. “I can’t feel my legs. Oh god, it hurts...somebody make it stop, please…” Brian’s voice sounded so sad and scared and broken. It didn’t sound like Brian at all. Not the Brian he knew. Justin could see there were tears on his cheeks.

Was this what Brian had gone through, alone in the car, all those years ago? Did he remember it? Justin didn’t know; he hadn’t asked.

Justin was unsure of whether to try to wake Brian up or not. He remembered from his own experiences with nightmares years before, after the bashing, that sometimes being touched only made it worse.

Brian pounded his fist on the mattress a couple of times, still seemingly in the clutches of the dream. His breathing was becoming more ragged. Suddenly, he let out a painful-sounding moan that gradually faded into a whimper. His face was twisted into a grimace that made Justin unsure if all of this was coming from a dream, or if Brian was actually in pain.

“Brian,” Justin said softly as he pushed himself upright in the bed and scooted closer to his husband. He let his hand hover for a moment over Brian’s shoulder, debating if he should touch him or not. “Brian,” he said again. “Are you alright?” Slowly and carefully, he lowered his hand until it made gentle contact with Brian’s bare skin.

Brian let out a yelp of pain, and Justin pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. Shit, he thought to himself. Was it real? He realized he had no idea what to do if it was. Justin was staring at Brian, wide-eyed and unblinking, trying to figure out what he should do. He knew he probably needed to wake Brian, because if this pain was real, they needed to go to the hospital because something was really wrong. But how could he do that without causing more pain?

“Brian,” he said again, louder this time. “Wake up. I need you to wake up.” He tried to keep his voice strong and assertive, but inside he felt like a scared little boy. He wanted to touch Brian again, but he didn’t want to make anything worse by doing that, so he stuck with verbal cues, saying Brian’s name over and over again. Telling him to wake up.

Finally, Brian started to come around. His flailing and writhing slowed down, and the cries of pain stopped. He opened his eyes and looked at Justin, then took a deep and shuddering breath. Justin watched as realization dawned in Brian’s eyes. Brian let the breath back out and closed his eyes again.

“Are you okay?” Justin asked. “Are you in pain?”

Brian shook his head slightly, then blinked his eyes open again. “I’m fine. There’s no pain. Just a dream. Sorry if I woke you.”

“What was the dream about?” Justin remembered it usually helped him to talk about his nightmares with Brian, even if it was difficult to do at first. Talking about it helped him realize that it wasn’t real -- it was only a figment of his imagination.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brian said. His breathing was calmer now, although still not quite back to normal. “I’ll be alright. Just...go back to sleep.”

How could he go back to sleep? From the words Brian had been mumbling in his sleep, Justin had gathered that it sounded like the dream was about Brian’s accident. Was this something that had happened before? Was it yet another thing that Justin didn’t remember?

Justin spent most of the rest of the night lying awake, trying in vain to figure out if this was something he should have already known about but simply didn’t remember. And he could tell from Brian’s breathing and the way he kept fidgeting restlessly, that Brian was unable to go back to sleep either. Justin finally fell asleep again just as the light outside the windows started to change from dark to dawn. When he woke up again, it was late morning, and Brian was already up. Justin could hear him typing in his office, which was on the other side of the hallway from their bedroom.

As Justin rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom, he wondered what his first full day at home in more than a month would look like. Certainly not what it would have looked like before all of this happened, that was for sure. He didn’t have anything scheduled for the day -- he wouldn’t start his outpatient therapy until the next day -- so his options were wide open. Only they didn’t feel very wide open. Instead, they felt limited, because nearly anything that came to mind as a way he would have filled his time before, now was something he could no longer do.

He stretched the fingers of his right hand against his left, bending the fingers back as far as they would go, then massaged his palm to help release some of the tightness there. As he did that, he looked at himself in the mirror, noticing the differences in how he looked now to compared to how he’d looked as he prepared for his art show back in December. His face was thinner. His skin, while it had never been tan, was much more pale from being stuck inside in Pittsburgh for weeks. But mostly, he noticed the hollow look in his eyes. It paired well with how he felt. Empty. Hopeless.

When he couldn’t take looking at himself anymore, Justin left the bathroom and went on to the kitchen to see what he could find to eat that wouldn’t take too much effort. He wasn’t expecting to find much, since he and Brian had both been gone for a month and a half, but it looked like in addition to providing the lasagna they’d eaten last night, Rob and Adam had also stocked their fridge with the basics. Justin was trying to think of what he could easily prepare left-handed, that he remembered how to make and probably wouldn’t fuck up, when Brian came up behind him and put an arm around his waist.

“Morning,” Brian said. “Sorry I woke you up last night. I know you need your rest.”

“It’s okay. I was more concerned about you…” Justin let his voice trail off as he pushed the refrigerator door closed and turned to face Brian. “What was that?”

“Just a bad dream.” Brian shrugged, then changed the subject. “So, if you don’t have any plans for today, I was thinking maybe we could go down to your studio and see what we could do to make it easier for you to work.”

“Brian, I haven’t painted in weeks. What makes you think I could just start up again now?”

“I doubt you’ve forgotten how to paint.”

“Well, no, but…” Why was Brian pressing this? He knew Justin hadn’t painted at all during rehab -- that he couldn’t. He couldn’t hold the brush.

“So what’s the problem? What’s the harm in trying?”

There was plenty of harm in trying. Mostly in confirming for himself what he already knew -- that he was completely and totally fucked and his career was over.

“I just don’t want to go.”

“You’ll have to, sometime. Unless you’re planning to never make another piece of art again, ever.”

Justin shrugged his shoulders. At this point, he really didn’t think he was going to. He didn’t see how he could. People had a certain expectation when they saw his name attached to something, and there was no way he could deliver on that expectation right now -- probably not ever again. He had no desire at all to set foot in his studio, where he’d see so many of the things he’d already created, and a few things he’d started but hadn’t finished, and now likely never would. The thought was too depressing.

Brian looked up at him and took both of his hands. Justin had to fight the urge to pull the right one out of Brian’s grip. Having Brian holding both of his hands reminded him of how the right one felt so...wrong.

“Justin, I know exactly how you feel right now,” Brian said. “I know this is a scary place to be -- feeling like you’re being thrown back into your life. I’ve been there. I know I’ve been saying that a lot, but it’s true. And I don’t want to make it any scarier or more stressful than it already is. But I also don’t want to see you just give up. You’ll never know what can work unless you try.”

Justin knew that -- Brian wasn’t telling him anything new. The problem was that he didn’t want to try.

“Do you think going to my studio will fix me?” Justin asked sarcastically. He knew he was being a smartass, but he also knew Brian could give back as good as he got.

“No, not any more than going straight back to Kinnetik as soon as I got out of rehab fixed me. But it sure as hell did help, even if I could only stand to sit there for a couple of hours before I had to go home and lie down. It gave me something to do. Direction. Purpose.”

Justin had neither of those things right now. He was fully aware of that, but he also had no idea what his direction or purpose should be. Unable to look Brian in the eye any longer, he pulled his hands out of Brian’s grip and opened the refrigerator again.

“I can make you something if you want me to,” Brian said.

“I’m not a child; I’m perfectly capable of making my own breakfast.”

“I know you are. I was just trying to make things easier.”

Those words felt so familiar to Justin. Like perhaps he’d said them to Brian before, but he didn’t know when or why. He was so tired of these feelings of deja vu he’d get when things he was probably supposed to remember would come up. It only made him feel even more broken than he already was.

He stared into the refrigerator, not sure what he was waiting on or why it was so hard to make sense of all of its contents and just make a goddamn choice about what to eat for breakfast. Why did it feel so overwhelming?

Seeming to sense his struggle, Brian reached around him and pulled the milk out of the fridge and set it on the counter, then opened one of the upper cabinets and pulled a box of Justin’s favorite cereal down from the bottom shelf, setting it next to the milk.

Justin didn’t say anything. He felt like an idiot for not even being able to decide what to eat, or figure out what he’d need to get out in order to prepare it. But he was secretly grateful to Brian for stepping in, although he’d never say it. He knew Brian wouldn’t expect him to either. Brian spent a lot of his time doing things for other people -- people he loved -- and never expected or even wanted a thank you. Brian just went on about his business and poured himself another cup of coffee while Justin got a bowl and poured some of the cereal into it, having to concentrate on using his left hand to do it.

For Brian, the rest of the day seemed to be business as usual, but for Justin, it felt like anything but. He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he spent most of the day on the sofa, reading or watching TV and feeling sorry for himself. The day felt like it dragged on and on. Brian made them lunch, and ordered takeout for dinner, and didn’t bring up Justin’s art again. But there was an awkward silence hanging between them for most of the day -- like neither of them quite knew what to say to the other.

Justin wondered if every day was going to be like that -- him feeling like he had absolutely no reason for existing, and Brian looking at him like there was something he wanted to say but not saying it.

Brian was the first one in bed this time, and when Justin joined him, it looked like he was just finishing up stretching his legs, sitting up in the bed and bending over them, holding onto his ankles. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Justin could clearly see the scar that ran from Brian’s mid-back down to the waistband of the pajama pants he was wearing. The scar he’d once said meant Brian was a survivor. Even though Justin didn’t remember the original context, he still agreed with that -- he knew Brian was a strong person. There was a reason Justin and Michael had based a superhero on Brian. Sometimes it seemed like there was nothing Brian couldn’t do. Brian had told him that the same was true for him, but Justin was having a hard time believing it.

Pulling the duvet aside, Justin climbed into bed and settled back into the pillows as Brian did the same.

“You won’t always feel this way, you know,” Brian said.

“What way is that?”

“Lost. Like you’re not sure what to do or where to go. It gets better. I promise.”

How did Brian always seem to know exactly what Justin was thinking? He wished he could put his full faith into Brian’s words and know that it would get better. But right now, it didn’t feel that way.

Brian leaned over and kissed Justin on the lips -- just a brief, chaste kiss. Not at all like the hungry, sensual one Brian had given him the night before. Justin still had a lot of questions about intimacy and their sex life, none of which he felt comfortable asking at this point. He kept hoping it would all come flooding back to him and he wouldn’t have to, but so far, nothing.

“I love you,” Brian said. God, Justin remembered when all he’d ever wanted was to hear those words, and he remembered how hard it had been for Brian to say them out loud. Now, Brian said them all the time, and it seemed like they flowed with ease. Justin wished he could remember the journey to get to this point.

“I love you too.”

Brian turned out the light, leaving their bedroom illuminated just by the soft glow of the city lights from outside the window, then flipped himself over onto his stomach and turned his head toward Justin, giving him a small smile that almost looked shy.

“You’ll get there,” Brian said, his voice quiet. “I know it doesn’t seem like that now, but you will.”

Lying there in the darkness, Justin closed his eyes and tried to let those words sink into his consciousness. He hoped Brian was right.

The ambient sounds of the city that never sleeps -- sirens wailing and horns honking from the street below -- served as his lullaby as he drifted off, Brian’s words echoing in his head.

_You’ll get there. I know it doesn’t seem like that now, but you will._

Justin was trying like hell to make himself believe that.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he felt Brian’s hand make contact with his chest, pushing him toward the edge of the bed, but thankfully, not over it. Justin tried to bring himself into full consciousness as quickly as he could, although it seemed like now, it took much longer for the fog of sleep to fully lift.

The fog burned off almost instantly, though, when Brian started screaming his name. An anguished scream that faded into a guttural moan that sounded broken. Devastated.

What was going on? Why was this happening again? Surely this hadn’t been happening before -- Justin felt like he would have remembered it. Should have remembered it.

Then, Brian started talking. Again, it started off as a mumble, then rose in volume as it slowly became more urgent and desperate.

“No no no no no no...God! Why? Why him? Why tonight? Why did I think I could go to his fucking prom?”

Brian’s last word made Justin freeze.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… This is all my fault… You didn’t deserve this.” Brian’s voice was getting more and more unsteady.

Justin didn’t know what he should do.

But what he did know, was exactly what this nightmare was about.

And Justin wasn’t sure he could take hearing any more of what Brian had gone through after Chris Hobbs had smashed Justin’s skull with a baseball bat. He’d never heard it before, because Brian never wanted to talk about it. He’d always change the subject, or otherwise tell Justin to try not to think about it. Justin had an idea all those years ago that there was something Brian wasn’t telling him when it came to what happened that night and how it had affected him, but now it was painfully clear just how awful that night had been for his then-lover, now-husband.

And Justin was devastated that Brian had never felt like he could talk about it with him. That he’d apparently held it all inside for all of these years. And now, it was all coming out. But why? Why now, if it hadn’t been happening all along? Or had it, and Justin couldn’t remember? Fuck. Surely he would have remembered this.

But the truth was, he didn't know. And that was even more scary.

Justin was brought back to the present by a broken sob coming from Brian, who was now crying in his sleep. Justin had to try to find a way to wake him up, because he couldn’t watch this anymore. Not knowing that it was all about him. That he was causing Brian pain.

“Brian,” Justin said, trying to keep his voice low but strong, even though he was petrified himself. He reached out and hesitantly touched Brian’s shoulder, causing Brian to flinch. Justin kept his hand there, applying gentle pressure. Feeling Brian’s tense muscles beneath his palm. “Wake up… It’s just a dream. You’re alright. It’s just a dream.” He remembered Brian having to bring him back to consciousness, night after night, during the two years after the bashing that his own dreams had been haunted by images of baseball bats and Chris Hobbs. It felt so strange to have their roles reversed.

When it seemed like the gentle pressure wasn’t going to be enough to bring Brian out of his nightmare, Justin pushed a little harder, shaking Brian just a little as he said, “Brian, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

In the dimly lit room, Justin could see Brian’s eyes slowly flutter open, unfocused and confused at first, before he seemed to realize what had happened and buried his face in the pillow.

Justin had so many questions. He didn’t know what to ask first, or if he should even ask any of them. Scooting himself toward Brian, until their bodies were touching, he laid his arm across Brian’s back and hugged him close, softly kissing his shoulder and then laying his own head on the edge of Brian’s pillow. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” He felt Brian’s muscles begin to relax and soften. “Tell me about it. Tell me what happened.”

Brian turned his head to face Justin again and shook it just slightly.

“I know it was about the prom,” Justin said gently. “Tell me.”

Brian buried his face in the pillow again, then took a deep breath and blew it out quickly.

“Brian, we don’t keep things from each other anymore,” Justin said, keeping his voice low. “We don’t have secrets. We talk about things. There might be a lot of things I don’t remember, but I do remember that.”

Brian rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, inhaling a shaky breath. “Trust me,” he said softly. “It’s better if we don’t talk about this.”

“No, it’s not. It happened to me too. It happened to both of us. We’ve never really talked about it. We need to talk about it.”

“I don’t think I can. Not with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was all my fault. And maybe if I hadn’t gone, it wouldn’t have happened.” Brian paused for a moment. When he continued, his voice was nearly a whisper. “And if it hadn’t happened, then maybe this time wouldn’t have been as bad as it is right now.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Chris Hobbs brought a baseball bat to the prom. He had to have already been planning something. He didn’t do what he did, because of you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, you don’t know any of what you just said either. There’s no way to know. And you can’t keep…” Fuck, the word wouldn’t come to him. Finally, it did. “...torturing yourself over it. How long has this been happening?”

“Too long.”

“How long is too long?”

“Justin, please… Let it go.”

“I want to know. We don’t keep secrets, remember? I want to know so I can help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

“How do you know, if you won’t let me try?”

“You need to focus on yourself right now.” Brian sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “You don’t need to be dealing with my shit.”

“We’re in this together, Brian. All of it. I might not remember our wedding, but I know how vows go. ‘For better or for worse.’ We help each other.”

Brian took in another deep breath, letting this one out slowly. Justin could see how difficult it was for Brian to talk about this, but he knew it needed to be talked about. Justin didn’t want Brian to feel like he had to keep things from him. He might be frustrated and depressed with his own situation, but he wasn’t so fragile that Brian couldn’t talk to him about something that was bothering him. He wanted to be a good partner, and this was part of it.

“Okay,” Brian said, still sounding unsure. “I’ve been having nightmares since your accident. Well, since the day I saw the car. All the blood in the car. The police gave me back the paintings, but some of them were missing. Michael and I went to see if they were there. In the car. And all the blood… It was like that night in the parking garage. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then I started dreaming about it. I keep seeing it over and over. The bashing, my accident, yours… I can’t sleep because I can’t stop seeing it. And I’ve been talking to someone about it but it’s not helping.”

Justin pulled himself closer to Brian again and laid his head on Brian’s chest. Slowly, he was putting together the pieces -- how tired Brian had been, how haggard he’d looked some days when he’d come to the hospital or to the rehab center. And Justin felt guilty that all of this was over him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What the hell are you sorry about? You have nothing to be sorry about. This is why I didn’t want to tell you about this. Why I’ve just been trying to deal with it on my own. I didn’t want to put this on you.”

“I’m glad you told me. I want you to be able to tell me anything. We’re married. That’s what married people do.”

Justin felt Brian’s arm come around his shoulders.

“I know, Sunshine,” Brian said. “I know. Try to go back to sleep, okay? I’m alright.”

Justin rolled over toward Brian, laying an arm over Brian’s chest. He could feel Brian’s heartbeat, and the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He remembered laying exactly like this, for so many nights when Brian was going through cancer treatment. Reminding himself that Brian was still alive, and was right there, with him. And he thought he had a brief flash of having done it again, more recently. Maybe he had. Regardless, he liked it. Feeling the current of life flowing through the man who had meant so much to him for so long. Feeling the rhythm of their breath begin to converge and fall into perfect harmony as they lay tangled together in the darkness. Reminding him that they were both still here, and they were together. Gradually, the ebb and flow lulled him back to sleep, with Brian’s arm around him, and Brian’s hand brushing lightly back and forth over his shoulder.

Justin woke up alone in the bed again, not even remembering Brian apparently slipping out from under him and getting up. Another day of not being able to do any of what he wanted. Only this time, he had therapy. Fun. Just the thought was enough to send his mood spiraling downward. He hoped he’d be able to keep that mood to himself and not take it out on Brian. Not after the night he knew Brian had had. He could feel a dull ache beginning in his head, and the sunlight streaming in their bedroom window was hurting his eyes. He kept hearing his neurologist’s voice in his head, telling him that his brain was highly sensitive to everything right now. Like he didn’t already know that, just from feeling how his brain was reacting to light, and sound, and every single fucking thing.

He found Brian in the living room with his laptop and a cup of coffee, sitting on the couch with his feet propped up in his wheelchair, laptop balanced on his thighs. He looked exhausted, and Justin didn’t feel much better himself. Justin wondered if Brian had even been able to go back to sleep, or if he’d just lain there awake while Justin slept.

“Hey,” Brian said. “Sorry about last night.”

Justin shrugged. “You couldn’t help it. There’s nothing you could have done about it.”

“No, I should have gotten on top of it a long time ago. But there was too much going on. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long. I’m going to Rochelle’s office today…” He paused and pulled his lips into his mouth. “I’m going to see if I can get a prescription for something so I can sleep. So we can both sleep. I can’t deal with this anymore. Fuck, I can’t even think straight.”

“Rochelle… Is she…” Justin was so goddamn tired of not remembering things that it seemed he should know.

“Oh, sorry. She’s, uh...the therapist I saw, after I was hurt. She helped me a lot back then.”

Justin didn't say anything. That was definitely something he should have known about. Remembered. Brian Fucking Kinney seeing a shrink. You’d think that would be memorable enough. But if it was directly related to Brian’s injury, he guessed that was why that memory had fallen into the same hole with all the rest of it. The hole that Justin was starting to wonder if he’d ever find again. That only added to his dark mood.

“Sunshine, have you...thought about talking to someone? About how you feel?”

“What, do you think she’ll give us a two-for-one special?” Justin didn’t know where the sudden snark had come from, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“You know we stopped doing that a long time ago,” Brian chuckled. “But seriously, even if it’s not her, just...someone. It really does help. Call me Zen Ben, or maybe I’ve been hanging out too much with Rob, but I’m about to talk about feelings. And I can see how much this is dragging you down. I understand where it’s coming from -- like I said, I’ve been there. I know. But I don’t want to see you go through what I went through before I got help. And trust me, you don’t want to go through that. It was scary as fuck. I felt like I was losing my mind. Eventually, you get to to a point where you just can’t deal with it anymore. Your brain just shuts down.”

There was clearly something else Justin should have remembered here, that he just didn’t. Yet another thing to be frustrated about, and yet another reason why he felt like the world’s worst partner. That only pissed him off more.

Regardless, he wasn’t sure that he wanted help. He hadn’t wanted to talk about his feelings to Rebecca in rehab, and Brian knew that, so he wasn’t sure why Brian thought he’d want to talk to someone else now.

So Justin simply shrugged and said, “I don’t want to talk about it,” then went back to the bedroom, mostly to get away from Brian and the notion that he should start seeing a shrink. What the fuck good would it do? The only thing that was going to help him was fixing his hand, and it seemed like no one was able to do that. So why bother?

Brian left him alone for the most part, except for quietly bringing him a protein bar and some tea, which he left on the nightstand without saying a word.

Two hours later, Justin took a cab to therapy -- alone -- after a small argument with Brian over whether or not he was capable of doing such a thing. That hadn’t been exactly what Brian had said, but it was how it felt to Justin. He was tired of feeling like a child. He knew Brian was worried about him, and he felt guilty about that, but for some reason today that guilt was manifesting entirely as resentment and anger and a burning desire to prove that he was still an adult who could manage himself. He didn’t need a chaperone.

When he got home, the apartment was empty. Brian must have been at his own appointment with Rochelle. Justin was completely exhausted, and he felt like all of the fight had gone out of him. He’d spent the entire day angry and on-edge -- just mad at the world -- and that had taken its toll. The fruitless pursuit of trying to relearn how to do simple things with his useless right hand didn’t help. He got himself a glass of water and sank down onto the sofa, leaning his head back onto the pillows and closing his eyes for a minute. When he opened them to set his glass down on the end table, a framed photo caught his eye.

He and Brian were in the center, surrounded by their entire Pittsburgh family. Gus was in Brian’s lap. Lindsay had one hand on Brian’s shoulder and the other arm around Melanie’s waist. Daphne was standing alongside Justin, with her arm thrown around him, grinning from ear-to-ear. His mother looked so proud. So thrilled for them. So did Debbie. Michael and Ben were holding J.R. Everyone else was there too -- Ted, Blake, Emmett, Drew, Carl, Hunter...even Cynthia. Everyone looked so happy. He and Brian looked so happy. You could almost feel it, just looking at the picture.

There was a banner in the background that read, “Congratulations, Brian and Justin.” This had to be a photo from their wedding reception.

He wished he could remember it. And now, looking at how radiant they all had been, it was even more devastating to have no recollection of it. Not of the wedding, and not of the day the photo was taken.

He wanted so badly to remember it. To know what it had felt like to be there. To be celebrating the very thing he had wanted for so long.

The tears came, and Justin couldn’t stop them. Damn brain injury. His emotions were all over the map and he wondered if that was ever going to end. If he’d ever feel in control again. But right now, he was overwhelmed with sorrow over the fact that he still couldn’t remember marrying Brian. Not even one minute of it. Not even flashes. Not a goddamn thing.

He laid the picture frame down next to him on the couch and hugged one of the throw pillows to his chest as the tears started falling. There wasn’t anything else to do except let himself cry.

He barely heard the door to the apartment open and close. He kept his face buried in the pillow, not wanting Brian to see him. Ashamed that he was so emotional over something he couldn’t even remember.

He heard Brian lock the brakes on his chair, then felt the sofa cushions sink down as Brian’s weight came to rest next to him. He felt Brian’s hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles across it.

Justin didn’t know what it was that made him lift his head up and turn toward Brian, but he did. And as soon as he did that, he felt Brian’s strong arms come around him, pulling him against his chest. It was then that he fully let go, breaking down completely until he was sobbing into Brian’s shoulder while Brian rubbed his back and whispered that he was okay. That everything was okay. Didn’t he know that it wasn’t? And it might not ever be?

Justin wasn’t sure how long it took him to calm down -- for the tears to stop and his breathing to return to normal. Once he did, he felt stupid. It was just a picture. Granted, it was a picture of a time that he wanted to remember badly and couldn’t, but it was still just a picture.

Brian leaned forward and picked up the frame from the coffee table, where he must have moved it to before he sat down next to Justin.

“This was a pretty great day,” he said, running his finger over the edge of the frame with a far away look in his eyes, like he was lost in the memory.

“I wish I could remember it.”

“I know. I wish you could too.”

Brian looked as sad as Justin felt. What kind of a partner was he, if he couldn’t even remember the day they got married? His mother had told him, when he was still in the hospital, that he and Brian had gotten married in Boston, then had a reception in Pittsburgh the next week. But that was all she’d told him, because that was all he’d asked. He kept hoping that he would eventually remember the rest, but the more time passed, the more he started to lose hope of that ever happening.

“Everybody looks so happy. We look so happy.”

“We were. We all were.”

“Tell me about our wedding.”

Justin looked at Brian expectantly, but could see a clear hesitance in his husband’s eyes.

“Justin, I don’t know if we should talk about this now. Not when you’re upset. I don’t want to make it any worse. Maybe we should wait.”

“I want to know. I want to feel like I was there too.”

“You were there,” Brian said softly.

“It feels like I wasn’t, though. Like that’s somebody else in that picture, instead of me. Maybe if you tell me about it, I’ll remember.”

Brian sighed. “And if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll know what you told me. I want to hear you tell it.”

Brian paused, breathing in and out slowly, before he started to tell the story.

“It was a Friday. December 21st. We got married in Boston, because we wanted it to be legal. It was snowing.” He stopped and looked at Justin, like he wasn’t sure he should continue.

“I love snow,” Justin said, in part to fill the silence, and also to hopefully encourage Brian to keep going.

“I know you do. I fucking hate it. But that day, it wasn’t so bad. Because it made you happy. Anyway, your mom was there, and Daphne was your best woman. You came up with that phrase. Michael was my best man. Ben was there too. And I, uh...I’d been planning a surprise for you. I wanted to stand while I married you. I spent months working with a physical therapist to learn how to do that, with leg braces and crutches. I took three steps, and I hugged you, and I think we all cried. But I was really happy that I could do that for you. It was what I wanted to do, and I did it. I remember feeling like I’d really accomplished something. It was a lot of work, but it was worth it.”

Hearing all of this was making Justin wish even harder that he could remember. Brian had done that, for him? Somehow, knowing that made Justin feel even worse for not remembering. He should remember that. It was important.

“It just felt right,” Brian said, looking down at the picture. Justin could see that he was blinking back tears. “We wrote our own vows. You talked me into that. I don’t remember all of it, but I do remember that we promised to always be there for each other, no matter what. We were each giving ourselves to the other, forever. To support each other as partners, for the rest of our lives.”

“I feel like I’m not a very good partner right now.”

“Why would you say that?” Brian looked up at Justin, his eyes still glistening. “You’re here. You’re with me. That’s all I need or want.”

Justin searched Brian’s eyes for even the slightest hint of uncertainty, but couldn’t find any, in spite of the fact that he himself felt like there was no way that just his presence could be all Brian wanted. The person Brian fell in love with was confident, expressive, and artistic. Justin felt like he was none of those things now. What was there to stop Brian from moving on, and finding someone else to fulfill his needs? Someone who was whole. Unbroken.

“How could that be enough?” Justin said. “I’m not the person you fell in love with.”

“But you are. You’re exactly the person I fell in love with. Because you’re you. We’re both different now than we were when we met, but we’re still us. Still Brian and Justin.”

“But what if I never remember?”

“Then we’ll make new memories. That doesn’t make you not worth loving.”

Justin had his doubts about that. He still felt like Brian deserved someone who wasn’t constantly trying to figure out what was going on -- what he was supposed to remember, that he didn’t.

“You know how you said last night, we don’t keep secrets from each other? Well, I kept a big one from you. It took me six months to tell you about my accident. That I was paralyzed. I was scared. I was ashamed of what had happened to me -- what I’d become.”

Justin tried to wrap his head around what Brian had just said, but he was having a hard time picturing strong, confident Brian ever being afraid or ashamed of anything.

“Because I hadn’t told you, when I talked to you, I could pretend it hadn’t happened.” Brian was looking down at his fingers as he spoke, picking at them a little. “I couldn’t do that forever, and I knew that, but I let it go on as long as I possibly could. I had to tell you, eventually. I told you -- well, after you saw me -- on Christmas Eve at Deb’s. I was afraid you’d never forgive me for not telling you, but you did, easily. I was so scared you wouldn’t find me sexy anymore. But you did. You touched me when I felt untouchable. Gave me back my desire. Showed me that I was still desirable.”

“I did that?”

“You did. And if you hadn’t been the persistent motherfucker you always were, we wouldn’t be married. You showed me I was worth loving. That I was worth more than just my reputation and my legs. That I was still the same person. You are too. And you’re worth loving -- that hasn’t changed. You’re still the only person in my entire life that I want to see every single day until I die. That’s why I came here to New York to be with you, and it’s why I married you.”

“I can’t imagine you ever feeling that way. Untouchable or undesirable.”

“Well, I did. When your body changes this much, it’s hard to see things the same way. Sometimes you need someone else to show you that even though things are different, that doesn’t mean they can’t still be great. You did that for me, and I’m not just talking about sex. You helped me learn how to be myself again. And I’ll be here for you, to help you do the same. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re a lot stronger than I am, though.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve always been strong. You still are. You just can’t see it right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. You’re the bravest person I know, to survive what you did at 18 and still do exactly what you want with your life. I’m not letting you give up this time. Just like you didn’t let me give up.”

“You said I showed you…” Justin stopped and took a breath. He hated asking about this. He felt like it was something he should know without having to ask, and his nervousness was making him stumble over his words. “That I showed you that you were still desirable. How… How did we do that?”

“We worked it out. Together.”

Brian leaned in and kissed him, starting off slow and tender but quickly becoming urgent and passionate, before pulling away so he could speak. Justin could see in Brian’s eyes how badly he wanted this -- wanted him.

“I’ll show you.”

Brian transferred himself quickly to his wheelchair and started off toward the bedroom. Justin followed him, nervous and unsure of how he was going to do this without making a fool of himself. He was fairly sure the last time he’d been this nervous about sex with Brian was the night they met under that street lamp on Liberty Avenue. In a way, he felt like he was a virgin all over again.

There were so many thoughts running through his head as he watched Brian get himself into the bed and start unbuttoning his shirt. How was this going to go? What could Brian even feel? How was he going to bring Brian pleasure? He remembered that Brian had always had certain places on his head and neck that turned him on when they were licked, nibbled, and touched in just such a way, but was that going to be enough?

Nervously, Justin took off his own clothes and climbed into bed, trying to cover up his anxiety by jumping right in -- running a hand over Brian’s bare chest as he finished propping himself up on the pillows, then kissing him, taking extra time to suck on Brian’s bottom lip before he released it. Feeling a tiny bit bolder now that he’d gotten started, Justin kissed his way down Brian’s jaw and the side of his neck. Brian seemed to like that, so he kept going, until he’d kissed his way down to Brian’s chest. He started to continue down Brian’s stomach, then realized he had no idea what he was going to do once he reached his destination.

Brian seemed to sense Justin’s hesitation.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Keep going. You were doing great.”

“But if I go down too far, then you won’t feel it, right? I don’t know how to do this. What to do.”

“If you get pleasure out of doing it, then I’m getting pleasure out of it too. A lot of this for me now, is about watching you. Giving you what you want. What you need. It makes me happy to make you happy.” Brian reached down and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down just a little as he looked expectantly at Justin. “It’s a whole lot sexier if you take my pants off than if I try to do it myself, trust me.”

Brian had a teasing sort of half-grin on his face, but Justin wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not.

“You can laugh,” Brian said. “Sometimes you have to. That’s one thing about this...you can’t take yourself so seriously. You just have to try things. Find out what works and what doesn’t.” Brian pushed his pants and underwear down a little farther, probably as far as he could with hips that wouldn’t lift, then took Justin’s hands in his and ran Justin’s fingers lightly across the skin a couple of inches below his navel. “Right there,” he said, arching his back a little, seemingly just from that light touch. “That spot is really good, most of the time. It’s super sensitive, so don’t press too hard, and if I tell you to stop, it’s because sometimes it hurts. The nerves are kind of haywire right there. Just depends on the day. But when it’s good…” Brian trailed off, leaning back into the pillows and quietly sighing.

“What’s it like?”

“It’s hard to describe, but it can bring me to as close as I’m ever going to come to an orgasm.”

“So you can’t…” Justin felt awkward even trying to finish that sentence. He couldn’t imagine what that must be like. It didn’t match up at all with his memory of Brian, who would sometimes orgasm multiple times in a single session.

“No,” Brian shook his head, but he didn’t look particularly sad or disappointed. He just looked like he was simply sharing a fact. “All of that requires my dick to be able to talk to my brain. But there are certain things that don’t…” Brian let his voice fade as he took his penis in his hand and started to stroke it lightly. It wasn’t long before Justin could see Brian getting hard. “I want you so bad right now. But my brain can’t send that message where it needs to go. There’s also this little reflex loop though, that usually serves us pretty well. Unless you’re looking for a marathon, and if you are, I do have what we’d need for that too. The Boy Scouts would be proud...I’m always prepared.” Brian’s voice was slowly getting lower and more seductive, before he suddenly shifted gears back to his lighter, teasing tone from earlier, as if he was trying to break the tension that Justin was sure was radiating off of him. “Now, would you help a poor guy out with these damn pants? They’re getting in the way.”

Justin took a deep breath and started carefully sliding Brian’s pants down his legs with his left hand, which was shaking a little. He was almost afraid to touch Brian’s legs, given that he had no idea what Brian could feel and what he couldn’t. If touching his hips hurt some days, did touching his legs hurt too sometimes?

“You're not going to hurt me,” Brian said softly -- encouragingly -- as if he could read Justin's mind. “They're dead. But if you touch me like I could feel it, that's pretty damn hot…”

About halfway down Brian's leg, Justin started running one hand seductively over the skin as he slid Brian’s jeans down the rest of the way. He had to use his right to do that, which he wasn’t entirely sure about, but he did it anyway. He wondered if the only reason Brian was asking him to touch him might be so that he’d have to use his right hand to do something. Regardless, it worked. It felt strange, but he was doing it. He wanted to make Brian happy. Make him feel something, even if it wasn’t physical. Once Brian was entirely naked, Justin pushed his left hand back up Brian's leg, returning to the area Brian had just shown him. As soon as his hand made contact, Brian inhaled sharply. For a split second, Justin was afraid he'd caused Brian pain -- that he'd touched it wrong or pressed too hard -- until he realized that the look on Brian's face was pure pleasure.

Justin definitely wanted to give Brian more of that.

He started using his thumbs to rub small circles across Brian's hips, relishing the way his lover was reacting. He wasn’t sure how good of a job he was doing with the right, since he was having to move his whole hand to do it and it was hard to coordinate, but Brian was quickly becoming breathless, so Justin guessed it didn’t really matter, as long as Brian liked it. Brian reached down and put a hand on each side of Justin's head, pulling him up so that their lips met in a rough, penetrating kiss. Then, Justin felt Brian's hand around his own cock -- expertly teasing him with agile fingers. Christ, he'd forgotten how good Brian was at giving hand jobs.

But Justin wanted to try more.

They were both becoming more and more frantic -- their hands scrabbling for purchase on one another's skin, their tongues each competing for space inside the other's mouth.

Justin pulled his lips free from Brian's just long enough to say, “I want you inside me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This installment contains my 300,000th word posted on AO3. I started writing and posting at the beginning of July, so all of that has been in six months' time. I still can't believe I've written that much, or that people are actually interested in and enjoying reading it. Thank you to all of you for your interest in my stories, and your encouragement. I appreciate all of you, and I always look forward to reading your comments and interacting with you here.


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